That which Glitters
by PaxtonProphet
Summary: (PROMPT: Sniper has to make a tough decision that affects his life and the team. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!) When some men in suits show up to 'discuss' something with Sniper, it makes him question everything he's worked for.
1. Chapter 1

_AN~ Here's another prompt from my Sniper prompt collection. This one is from a close friend and I want to make it amazing. Hope you like it. :)_

 ** _PROMPT: Sniper has to make a VERY tough choice that effects his life and the team rather drasticly. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. (Mid-MvM)_**

 ** _Also, if you want to leave a prompt, PM me, send me a message over steam, PM me on DeviantART, or even scream at me in the reviews. I'll see it one way or another. I can make it happen. No, it DOES NOT have to be about Sniper or TF2 at all. Feel free to suggest anything that isn't in bad taste._**

* * *

His hand re-adjusted on the barrel of his rifle, finger's numb from rushed reloads, hour after hour. Unlike real men, robots didn't let up and fighting them never got easier. Men can learn and adjust their stratagy, sure, but a robot could adapt in a way that makes a merc's skills null and void unless re-worked. THAT was what wore them out. Men could only do so much. Centuries of advancements only proved that machines were sure to replace man in many aspects of life. It was bound to happen and fighting it made it no less evident, but Sniper would sure as hell delay it, for the sake of his job, at least. He NEEDED the money.

His eye focused down the sight and lined up the cross-hair with the metalic dome of a giant-heavy bot. It was damaged to a considerable degree, making his job a little easier. He'd never been more thankful for Soldier in his life. The red-dot lit up with a slight whine before he took a breath and pulled the trigger. There was a split second of thunder before the bullet met its mark and blasted the inner workings of the robots head across the battle-field. A fine kill, if he was dane to say so. Satasfying enough, at least. The robot was a bane, too. They hated the enormous things. Expecting more, the bushman shot his sight up to the mobile base nestled into the crook of the hills beyond... But the door began to close and treads roll back in a retreat. They were done... If the visuals weren't enough to ensure said fact, the administrator came over the intercom per-usual and proclaimed the Mercs' temporary victory. He could relax... They could all relax...For now...

He ran his palms over his face, an exasperated sigh escaping his clenched jaws. His steel eyes locked on the horizon beyond once more, the entire scene keeping a yellow-tint via his aviators. The ominous clouds loomed above the land, but never gave a drop of rain. They came and went so slowly... Seemingly there forever, like every day after Mann Co. fell. His life was so... drawn out now. It was so dark and monotonous, yet he bore with it, and for what? Some money? Not even a paycheck anymore. His income from the day's activities could range from hundreds of dollars to only a couple cents, the ladder being too frequent for him to justify himself anymore. Maybe it wasn't the money, at that point. Maybe there was something else. If so, he was blind to it. Money kept him working, money kept him alive. Money was his security and gave him hope that he had something better on the horizon. Retirement in luxury, maybe? A better hobby? A better JOB? He walked through the doors that opened for him. Mann Co.'s door had been opulent, wonderful in appearance, something that promised to hold his future... but now... Well... it was an empty room. What more could he do? For now, he could only return to their temporary accommodations and rest for as long as work allowed.

Sniper strode into the make-shift resupply and into the depths of the factory beyond two glass doors far past their prime. There were few actual rooms below, but the team found that the old offices served best for sleeping. Beds were void from the space and they made do with whatever of their belongings remained. Sniper had slept in worse. He made it to an empty office, far from the complaints of his co-workers, and nestled himself into a corner of the back wall, every one of which being a back-wash baby blue, almost grey. He removed his vest and folded it as compact as he could, then dropped his hat over his face before resting the back of his head on the recently folded clothing item. Sleep came easy after such a grueling day. Being revived many times over was no help, either. The process still worried him, honestly. It made him sick, as well. Medic assured the side-effect was nothing to qualm over, but the man wasn't stable. No one could trust most of his judgement.

His sleep was dreamless... A simple abyss. wordless... thoughtless...plain and dark, yet so soothing. It was a world without problems, without worry, without consequence. He was free to just sit there and do nothing. He wanted nothing more. Nothing was a long forgotten memory, only existent in his fantasies, but that made it none the less real... none the less wonderful. All the best things were fantasy, speculation on the part of the brain... Ghost stories... Myths... dreams... All fantasy, but all beautiful, but all beautiful things had to die eventually. He awoke in what felt like no time at all to a sudden slap of cold across his face. His eyes shot open and arms coiled around his figure to stave him from the soaking wet chill of ice-water. Standing over him was the little ankle-biter... Scout. He tossed the bucket aside and made quick excuse.

"Doc said it would wake you up quicker. You're a heavy sleeper, man. The thing-y's back and we need to get movin'. Common." He was gone seconds before Sniper made it to his feet. He snatched up his belongings, vest drawing over his drenched button up and hat placed back atop his head, also wet and dripping. It was cold out. Bloody freezing now that he was wet. One of those two blokes were going to get it when this shift was up and he didn't care who. The first one to get close got a face full of knuckle. For now, he was forced to work with them, all the better if he made to indication of his emotional distress. They'd know when he socked them. Sniper emerged onto the factory grounds, astonished to see that it was sunrise... and a clear one at that. No clouds at all... It was only more foreboding. The world liked to jinx him. Still, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked to the frontal building where the rest of the mercs were setting up. Engineer already had a decent century set up along with a dispenser. A teleport would be nice, but metal was hard to come by before a wave.

Sniper grabbed a few extra rounds from the dash of the dispenser before reddening in frustration at a couple of cackles, no doubt at his expense. He turned to find that one was coming from engineer and another from Spy in passing. The Frenchman was off on his own before Sniper could snap at him. He was in NO mood today. At least engineer's was more kind-hearted. The Texan never meant to rile anyone up. "I was wonderin' what that child was doin' with that pale'a water. You feelin' alright, son?" Sniper responded with a snort.

"It's almost fifty degrees an' I'm wet. What d'you think, truckie?" There was only another amused cackle in response before the Texan returned attention to his buildings. Medic also came to the dispenser for some extra munitions and was obviously trying to ebb some response at the Aussie's condition. He wasn't very good at hiding it, especially when tired. It was a known fact that the man slept very little between bouts, usually on the ride between locations if needed. On bad weeks, some of the other mercs would try to bet as to when the German would pass out on the field. He hadn't done so yet, but at the rate he was working himself, it was a very likely possibility. If he did today, Sniper knew what to do. For the time being, however, he let Medic pass without incident, but with a parting death glare, easily read.

The administrator came over the PA. "Mann Co. is under attack!" She was slightly late at the draw, as the robots began to pour out onto the field moments later. Thus, the monotonous trudge began once again.

* * *

It was just another day, like yesterday, the day before, and even tomorrow. The fact that time was blending together began to worry him, even more than his thoughts of Mann Co. in recent days. All he did was fight and fight without any end. Sure, it had been like that before, but fighting men was different than fighting machines. He was just about sick of it. Sniper carried himself into the re-supply and back into the offices, the rifle slung over his shoulder seemingly heavier than usual. His eyes normally kept to the floor out of habit in the bush, but for some reason, they were drawn to the walls around him... grey... soulless... Then, he saw something rather odd. It was Miss Pauling, the Administrator's assistant. The raven-haired girl was talking with a pair of men in matching suits and bowler hats. One had a lighter complexion than the other and some strands of black hair poking out from the brim of his cap. They spoke quietly, hand movements giving indication that the chat wasn't entirely pleasant. After quite a while, Miss Pauling pinched the bridge of her nose and gave the men a signle to 'Wait here.' She turned to walk off but stopped only feet away. She looked him dead in the fact, lips becoming a thin line as she motioned him over.

Sniper swallowed and did as was requested. Miss Pauling stood by his side and put a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. "Sniper, these men are here to see you. They won't tell me why."

"And It will stay that way," said the older one, turning his gaze to Sniper. "Mister Mundy, we'd like a word with you in private if you'll allow." Sniper began to teeter on his heels, spine going ridged. Miss Pauling must have felt it because her posture mirrored his. He managed to speak, however.

"Not too long, gents. No tellin' when I migh be needed 'gain."

"Of course. Please, come with us." They lead him back into the old over-seer offices of the factory and locked the door behind them. They took care to draw the tattered curtains and check the room for any opening or breaches. Sniper simply sat on pins and needles in a rolling office chair, waiting for whatever these men wanted from him. Finally, when they seemed satisfied, they stood before him with proper postures, hands behind their backs and faces stone and serious. "Mister Mundy, before we begin, we need you to comply with us. You are not to speak of this conversation with anyone for the rest of your life, no matter the circumstances. Are we clear?" The voice was steely and cold, something Sniper only remembered in Spy when the Frenchman was especially angry. He swallowed again.

"Aye, Sirs..." He wrung his hands to the point of them becoming blood red.

"Alright. Mister Mundy, we are representatives of the WNPKS; World Nations Peace Keeping Society. We work with nations around the world to help them deal with problems out of their control. Basically, we are hired to do the things other countries cannot and our loyalties lie with whoever is dane to hire us. Our abilities lie in many different forms, all of which are useful to maintaining as much world peace as we can manages after the war. We want to hire you." Sniper's gut tightened and his knuckles went pale white. The man's voice lowered. "We want you to be an Assassin for the organization." It dropped. His heart was below the depths of hell and he felt like if his grip got any tighter, he'd break his own hand.

"You want me to be a political assassin?"

"In latent terms, yes. A man of your skill set is very hard to come by. Mann Co.'s interest in you only peaked our own. These past two years, we've watched you and seen what you can do. You are a gifted man with that rifle. Instead of defending a... a hat company, we wanted to use your skills for a more meaningful outlet, one that can possibly better the world. Are you interested?"

Sniper steadied his breathing, trying not to grip his hand so hard. Could this be his new door? He had begun to hate working for Mann Co. and any better paying way out would leave him bounding off in a heart-beat, but... Political Assassination? Was that really better then being a mercinary? At least he didn't have to hide the fact that he WAS a killer while working for Mann Co. Still, this was repectible work, something to be proud of, even if the pride was something he had to keep to himself. It would pay better, that's for sure... But... He'd be at more risk than ever... Out there... in the real world... if he died, he died for good... There was no being revived, no brushing his death off with little care... There was reality. He'd gotten so used to the cushion of safety associated with revival that he'd never paid heed to the qualms of a mortal man. Could he really re-adjust to life outside again?

"I... I dunno..."

"Mister Mundy, this is a chance few people ever get... Fewer accept. We need someone like you and, from the looks of things, you need us, too. We can give you a life better than you have now, more money, political immunity. You can't be prosecuted if ever caught thanks to our world relations. At the very least, think about it."

Sniper nodded. "Aye. I'll sleep on it."

* * *

Sniper entered the small area that the team had set aside for meals. There were four of them there at the moment; Engineer, Spy, Demo, and scout. The Aussie had blown off his vendetta against the kid for now. He had worse problems to worry about. Engineer must have seen his thousand-yard-stare and patted his upper arm. "Hey, son, ya'll feelin' alright? You look like a ghost." The bushman nodded, not turning to look at him.

"We saw those suits talkin' to ya'," added Scout. "What they want?"

' _Damn... I was hopin' they wouldn't ask..._ ' Sniper sighed, looking around the small room at his co-workers. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together casually. "They... They offered me a job..." Spy cocked an eye-brow.

"What kind of 'job'?" he asked.

"Oh..." It took him only a second to think. "A military job. They wanted me to be part of their reserve in case of another war."

"Well, ain't that somethin'. What'cha say?"

"I told 'em I'd think 'bout it. Not sure I'm really a man for soldierin'. Being a Merc is one thing. Bein' a soldier is new grounds. I might consider it when I'm done with Mann Co." Few words were tossed around involving the matter, but the subject was eventually dropped. The men continued their meals... except spy... He stared at Sniper, eyes searching for something. It was unnerving, his expressionless mug chilling as ever. His steel eyes distant, yet focused. He was thinking... about him. That was never a good sign. The only times he ever thought about his team mates to this extent, something bad was in view, but only to Spy as the man could be introverted at the WORST times. In spite of this, however, the bushman was dane to finish his meal and retreat to the next empty room for another siesta. He didn't honestly need it, but he'd take what he could get. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything better to do. Taking pot-shots at cans was his old goto, but with ammunition sparse, he had to make sacrifices. In time, he found a void office and happily settled down on the floor in a similar manner to the previous evening, his vest a pillow and hat a mask from the flickering lights above. The tranquility didn't last long.

"Bushman." the stark voice broke through the silence as its owner kicked one of Sniper's lanky legs. The Aussie lifted his hat and looked Spy dead in the face, eyes hidden behind the sun-set hues of his aviators. He merely grunted before falling back down onto his 'cot.' "I would like to speak with you, bushman," the smaller man continued.

"Aye? 'bout wot?"

"About that job offer. Come with me." He made only a slight finger gesture in the know that Sniper had seen it before exiting the room. Sniper himself was bitter at the thought and his heart began to beat a mile a minute. He couldn't tell anyone... No matter how good at keeping secrets they were. Besides, the rogue would find out eventually. He didn't need Sniper telling him. Reguardless, the Aussie stood, leaving his items on the floor as he walked close on spy's heels. The Frenchman lead him outside and onto the battle-grounds, going into the upper floor of an abandoned mill-like shack. There was a set of windows outlooking the near-by mountains in a more flattering way than most spots on the property, but a shit barn was a shit barn. Spy turned on his heels, hands behind his back in that normal suave stature of his. He his glare bore deep into the Aussie's own, almost causing the man to look away, had his pride allowed it. "I can tell when you lie through your teeth, mon ami. There is little you can keep from me so I advise that you give me the entire truth and makes this easier on the both of us." He crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame, trying to look relaxed, but Sniper could see through it like clean glass.

"Nah, mate. No can do. You'll find out on yer own at some point. 'Sides, when have **you** ever made it easy on **me**? I don't see the need to extend the kindness." Spy shook his head.

"Mon ami, you are playing a dangerous game."

"As are you," Sniper leaned closer, intentionally looming over the shorter man in an attempt at a feral dominance. Spy was never an easy man to conquer and, as expected, he refused to kneel. He simply glared back, stare unwavering. "There are some things you just aren't meant to know 'bout people, spook." Perhaps reasoning would work. "If I ain't told you yet, you ain't meant to know." Spy's brown arched.

"Why would you tell me in the first place?"

"Cos' I know you'll find out eventually. You always do. There's no real point in keepin' secrets from you, but If I dun say nothin' 'bout this one, when you find out, I ain't liable."

"Liable... Have you been blackmailed, tireur isolé?"

Sniper's hands flopped down to his sides, a half shrug off his shoulders. "Kinda like that. I jus' can't give ya' any specifics. They'll take me head."

"Hmm..." Spy grabbed his chin with his left hand and balanced the elbow on his right which wa wrapped about his thin frame. He paced pack and forth, expression considering and blank; not even a scowl that usually accompanied his pondering. "It was secretive... Valuable... You were sent a correspondence in private with two sharply dressed men... Were they American?" Sniper nodded. "American... coming to recruit an Australian... curieux... Il n'y a que quelques-uns ..." His head shot up, eyes meeting the sunset of Sniper's aviators. "It was political, wasn't it? Something they want in the 'need to know.'"

Sniper shrugged. "Can't say nothin' mate. You **could** be right." He gave his nose a scratch while extending his thumb.

"Ce n'est pas bien..." the statement was mumbled and unintelligible to Sniper who only rolled his shoulders and walked to the pannel of windows. Below them lay a severely marked-up area of the battle-grounds. Rocket-marks and blood stained it as though someone's appendage was forced into an industrial fan. Oddly enough, these were caused by Medic, a usually careful man in the heat of battle. He knew how much he was needed and often took to special tactics to keep himself alive for as long as possible. The fact that he had been decimated in such a way made Sniper's insides churn. "Do you... think this will be better than Mann Co.?" The question was out of the blue, causing the Aussie's spine to go ridged. He tilted his head, refusing to look at the other man.

"Maybe... Maybe not... It'd be **steady** pay, at the very least. It might even lead somewhere. Mann Co., sadly 'nuff, ain't goin' nowhere. It's a dead-end, a cliff into a canyon 'a lava. I can't see meself havin' a future in this, or one at all if days like this keep up." There was a long period of silence. Sniper guessed it was consideration on Spy's behalf. When he spoke again, his voice was hardly a whisper.

"So... you are going to accept, yes?"

"I wanna... Sounds promisn'." Spy stood beside him and leaned his back against the window.

"Yes, but many horrible things can be wrapped in beautiful packages. This kind of work, bushman... It is not what you are used to. You have killed men, yes, but you have killed men who would also kill you. What they are having you do is kill men who do not see it coming and have no means of defense. They are the basic definition of a 'bystander.' Bushman, I know little of you, but I know enough so that this could not sound like you. You like a challenge. You are a man of sport and fair sport, at that. I would not loathe your absense, but I would pitty your life. Tout ce qui brille n'est pas d'or."

* * *

Spy had been gone for almost an hour and Sniper hadn't stopped staring into the hills. His mind was racing, taking all the Frenchman had said. It was so odd... One moment he was getting at his throat and the next he was playing it Gandhi, trying to offer some advice as though he knew the Australian like a brother. They were from opposing ends of the character pool, that was certain, making them opposing forces by nature... Something they both apt to get past when needed... was it needed then? Sniper'd admit that Spy was a very intelligent man... Could he honestly see something Sniper couldn't? Probably. Were the newly sewn seeds of doubt that needy of attention? The possibility in that was also un-ignorable.

Spy had an undeniable point: Sniper was a man of sport. Shooting some politicians because he paycheck demanded it? **That** wasn't sport. **That** was murder.


	2. Chapter 2

It'd been a week... A long, grueling... debating week. He had gone back and forth with himself as though playing a game of ping pong. That coupled with the advanced stress of his actual work could have most certainly strained some grey hairs from the Aussie's brunet scruff. On one side of the card, on the side stained and beaten, was Mann Co., the company that had been his life for most of his adult career and payed for everything he'd ever needed since then. On the other side, the side new and polished with diamonds in each corner, was the WNPKS, the new money who could pay him so much more for much less work... Yet... That which Glitters is not always gold... Was he really the type for POLITICAL assassination? Assassinating someone who had every intent to kill him? Sure, that was his work and easy to do from the moral standpoint of self defense. Killing a... a suit? A politician? An old bloke who had no gun, no bloodthirst for him, and no qualm with him besides being in power? He hated to say it, but, perhaps, Spy was right. The ponce was a sneaky, slithering snake, but snakes can CHOOSE to bite... Spy had chosen not to. He'd been docile and seemed knowledgeable about the topic, in fact. He felt strongly enough to push Sniper for answers and even tried to talk him out of it as though he knew it better. It was then that it began to actually dawn on him... Spy had been a political assassin.

What most of the Tuefort nine did before being hired by Mann Co. was no secret save for spy and Pyro, but people could draw conclusions about spy. Something about espionage, of course, and something especially associated with the war and perhaps an eye on the Soviet Union and the Remaining Nazi Party, seeing how jumpy Europe was afterwords. Sniper was surprised he hadn't come to the guess of political assassin before, actually. The man was skilled in sneaking and back-stabbing. There was nothing to say it started at Tuefort. He was skilled. He was efficient. He was, dare the bushman say it, a professional. He took the motto of 'Have a plan to kill everyone you meet' to a whole new level. Spy probably could name ten ways to kill each of them, as a start and go into detail about how he would do it. Sniper never gave it too much thought. He wasn't a planner and never anticipated needing to kill one of his own. Spy was a quick planner and clever in a pinch. The chances of political assassination in his past were at ninety-nine percent; high enough for him to speculate... or maybe use... In fact, he took said information from his perch after they had thwarted Grey Mann yet again and approached Spy strait off.

"Ayy, Spook. Can I have a word with ya' fer just a minute?" He didn't even give Spy the chance to respond. He simply took him by the elbow and lead him back to where Spy had taken him just a week prior. The Frenchman didn't question it, simply going along with it as though it were normal. When Sniper finally released him, Spy flicked some imaginary dust from his arm and cocked a dark brow.

"You have my full attention, Bushman. Why have you carried me back to this... shack?" m/FDA;k

Sniper took a deep breath, drawing every word to mind just the way he wanted to say it. It probably wouldn't come out that way, but it was worth a try. "I wanted to talk more 'bout me job offer. Are you still curious?" Spy straitened.

"Yes, in fact, I am. What has driven you to this, Rogue?"

"Well, I been thinkin' real hard on what you told me. Debatin' myself to exhaustion all week, but when I got done debatin' I started to think... You know an awful lot 'bout this. You ever do this kind'a thing?" Spy scoffed, straitening his sleeves with an amused smile.

"I thought we were here to talk about you, Coquin. I am not avid in telling my life story, let alone to someone like you."

"Well, I ain't askin' you to. I just wanna know if you were even involved with this kind'a stuff. Little exchange of information. You're gettin' the better end of it, really. So, how 'bout it, spook? I ain't askin' fer much." Spy sighed and moved to stand by the panel of windows, looking out upon the dreary, overcast night. It would rain, most positively. Rain was a two sided coin... Much like what he was about to do...

"I was an assassin, yes. I killed fat, lazy dictators and small, self-righteous third-world rebels. I basically was one of the many gears in a trash-compactor for the country of France. If they didn't like the look of something, I or one of my many contemporaries was sent out to deal with it silently and privately before their chanting got into the newspapers. I was ranked tenth among my many counterparts... This is out of sixteen, so you can imagine I was disposable. Long story short, newer, more promising avortons came along and us on the lower end of the chain were let go. That is why I accepted Redmond Mann's offer when it arose. Es-tu heureux? Tell me about YOUR predicament,tireur d'élite. Indulge me."

More than satisfied with the answer, Sniper felt that Spy deserved one of his own. "Aye... You see... These men who came to me... They were part of this... World Peace association and wanted me to kill people for them. They said that they work for whoever pays them and that they'd offer a king's ransom if I played their new pawn. They also told me not to tell anyone. Didn't say what they'd do if I did, but I'm guessin' it's somethin' a little like this:" He made a pretend pistol with his fingers and pulled an imagined trigger at his right temple. "They really wanted me to consider it."

"So, you are willing to take a bullet on the off chance that they find out about this meeting and that you spilled all the details of their meeting with you?"

"I was hopin' you were good 'nuff at keepin' secrets... All things considered..."

Another laugh. "Mister Mundy, I do not keep secrets, I deliver them. To whom? Well, that depends."

"On wot'?"

"With whom my loyalties lie..."

"And where do they lie as of now?" Spy walked around in front of his co-worker and sighed again.

"With those who I am dane to work for. Aussi connu comme Miss Pauling. Now SHE keeps secrets."

"If you ain't the type to keep 'em, though, then wot' of yer' life'n all that?"

"Well, I just willingly divulged a good portion of them to you, so I'd say those are not really secrets. It's all selective and perhaps enough motivation can draw some things out, yes? You gave me motivation, I spoke, though some circumstances can change how that works. When a spy is interrogated, those selective things BECOME secrets, but I have yet to be interrogated... Unless... this would be an interrogation. If so, I'll have to slit your throat, but I trust that you can keep this to yourself fairly well, no?" Sniper nodded slowly and stretched before walking to the wooden frame to leave, but the Frenchman stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hold on, Rogue. We are not finished. There is still the matter of this offer. The people who gave it. Who did they say they were with?"

"Uhh... The World Nations Peace Keepin' Society. Some ponce underground shindig, aye. Kept usin' fancy English like I wouldn't know what the bloody hell they were sayin' and blindly follow like a dog. You could see it in 'em. They were some entitled bastards."

"Hmm... Is that so? Rich, American, Political, free lance, hiring Mercenaries... Anything else?"

"Aye. They said I'd have political immunity and not ever haf'ta worry 'bout convictions."

"So that is their game... Mon ami, I do not think these men were honest... These men were Cobras dressed as garden snakes. One would only know if they bit... Hmm... I need to think on this. We shall talk again soon." With a whisk of smoke, Spy vanished and probably scurried off to do who knows what. Sniper, however, was, once again, left standing there speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

A week without attacks was a week well spent, in Sniper's opinion. Somewhere around noon on Thursday, he found himself sprawled out comfortably on the roof of the resupply. He'd used his van and a few boxes, odds and ends, but it was worth it to get some quiet time to himself. With his aviators pushed up onto his face, he watched as the same gloomy clouds rolled passed him, shapeless as a thought and grey as steel. There was no rain, as always. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded rain. In fact, he'd LOVE for it to rain. He'd always been one for rain. He was never really sure why he liked it. Perhaps it was soothing like white noise or a fan in a silent room. As nice as 'peace and quiet' was, he had always needed sound to relax or even sleep. He attributed it to his many years in the bush. His father had always told him that if the night stops singing than something was about to start screaming. With that in mind, every time he went on hunting trips, he wouldn't fall asleep unless the night sung to him.

At that moment, the wind was what soothed his tired bones. It was cool as the mountain wind should have been, but not so much so that he shivered. It ruffled the tufts of his brunet hair and flowed freely through his clothes. It reminded him of the nights he'd spent back home, sitting up in the old tree behind the house. He'd sit up and watch the stars, listening to the horses snorting and running about without a care in the world. Sometimes, on the clearest nights, he could look out form that tree and see the lights of many other houses on the horizon and even passing headlights. When people said the world came alive at night, it was no lie, especially in Australia, a land almost untamed and reckoned with. It was home to the deadliest and most amazing creatures, the people included. Granted, Sniper had never been much like the rest, but he was proud, either way, to know he came from such a place, even if his friends poked fun at his bare face and scrawniness. Teasing made him tougher. It also made him better at retorting. He had a comeback for almost every insult in the book.

Slowly, the mountain breeze brought more to him than a cool caress. Something wafted through the air, thick and familiar; cigarette smoke. Oddly enough, the first thing that came to mind was the thought that he hadn't had a smoke in some hours and REALLY needed one. His muscles had started to twitch, much to his distaste. Stiffly, he sat up and looked in the direction the scent emanated from, but found nothing. He knew better than to assume. "The smoke 'n mirrors because...?"

"Just seeing how long it would take you to notice, Mon ami." He uncloaked, having been sitting on an air conditioning unit "You say those men return today, yes? Have you decided on your reply?" Sniper, in fact, had. He knew what he was going to chose.

"Aye, mate. I ain't bitin' their bait. I'm stayin' with Mann co. a while longer. You were right, 's much as it pains me t' say it. I ain't fond'a shootin' suits jus' 'cause some blokes don't like 'em. 'sides... I'd miss yer ugly mugs." Spy snorted, giving a smile that seemed almost friendly.

"I am almost proud of you, bushman. You actually made a SMART choice."

"Ha. Ha. Shut up, you bloody knocker."

"Come now, rogue. I mean no offence. You have your moments. Besides, that is not the entire reason I have come to find you."

"Oh? Then spill it, spook. Stop waistin' time. They're gonna be here soon." Spy sighed and approached the Australian who sat up and smoothed back his wind-raggled hair. The Frenchman sat down next to him and offered him a cigarette from his silver case. The bushman gave the other a questioning glare before slowly taking one of the cigarettes and lighting it with a battered old lighter he kept in his vest pocket. It was a much more expensive brand than he could have ever pulled the luxury cash together to afford. He allowed himself only a certain amount of money from his pay for things such as cigarettes every week. With the cost of that particular type and his current smoking habits, he'd have to cut into his food budget to keep himself tame.

"I have done some research on these men," Spy began, pulling a slow drag on his own smoke. Sniper gawked sideways at him.

"Why does it matter? I ain't acceptin' the deal."

"Well, mon ami, it was mostly out of caution. Some organizations such as theirs do not take rejection lightly, especially when they give so much information to their future contemporaries. They shared with you a great deal of information and it is clear that they did not want to legally exist. As a result, I feared that they may try to eliminate you if you chose this course of action."

"Ah... Well, what'cha find out?"

"Through an old connection in Europe, I discovered that this particular group of des hommes fous has been known to execute on occasion through certain circumstances. They also have espions, eyes and ears, everywhere. Our second meeting might have put you at great risk, plus cher rogue. Marcher avec prudence. Tread with caution."

"Hmm..." Sniper wasn't sure what to really think, or even feel. What if they HAD been monitoring his and Spy's meetings? They had obviously been watching him, but the idea of said observation being incredibly close was almost sickening. "Wot do you suggest I do?" Spy sighed and tossed his cigarette.

"Keep close to your allies, Mon allié. Do not let them catch you alone. We are the 'Tuefort Nine,' as they call us. We are feared and deadly. They cannot take us all."

"Heh... Puttin' us higher than we are, ain't ya?"

"Perhaps, but the truth stands. We are some of the most well armed men around. I'd like to see them attempt a go at you." A moment of silence fell in the moments between their conversation and the call of a familiar female voice from below.

"Sniper!" The Australian leaned over the edge of the roof to see Miss Pauling standing below. She cupped her hands together and called up to him further. "Those guys are back! They want to talk!"

"Aye! I'll be right down!" He turned back to spy and sighed quietly, eyes evenly portraying his slight worry. "Time for the balancing act, mate. Gonna be my ally?" The frenchman stood, dusting off his suit pants.

"Suis-je pas toujours? Let us be off." They climbed down together, entering the resupply and heading back into the offices where they found the suited men standing exactly where they'd been when Sniper first met them. Spy gave him a soft pat on the back and walked off to lean against a far corner. near enough to be of aid, but far enough to not attract suspicion. The men took off their hats and nodded to him.

"Let's take this to the back, shall we?" The taller one added. Sniper would have gladly agreed, but he knew better. He'd never give them the slightest chance of getting him alone.

"Nah, mate. I ain't need privacy to tell ya my answer. I ain't joinin' ya. As nice as the deal is, it ain't me. Mann Co. is where I belong." Both men looked more discouraged than they already were to begin with. They fidgeted in their shoes, hands twisting behind their bowlers. Alarm bells sounded loud and clear in Sniper's head and he took a small step back. "Now, I got some work to attend to, so you gents should be on yer way. Things get messy 'round here when things hit the fan. You ain't like us blokes. Wouldn't want blood and oil on them fancy suits, would ya?" The taller man retorted, expression twisting in odd ways.

"Mister Mundy, this is beyond the matters of employment, now. There is something important we need to speak with you about and privacy is needed." They knew... They had to know...

"Well, then make an appointment er' somethin', gents. I am a VERY busy man. The work of a mercenary is messy and on the clock. You boys should understand that, right? Now, see yourselves out er my contemporary here an' I'll escort you out. Understand? With Mann Co. under threat, it is our jobs under their employment to protect the remaining assets. Right now, you two pose a possible threat and need to be removed. There are two ways to remove a threat, gents. Which do you prefer?" Their faces twisted more, hands going stiff behind the hats within them.

"Very true..." the other who'd been silent until then added. "In fact, it couldn't be any more true. We understand and we're glad that you seem to understand as well. We're all on the same river, but in different boats... Each boat is ready to broadside the other. One only wishes that the other will lay down its arms and come willingly." Spy's figure in the corner of Sniper's vision shifted as the man walked to his co-worker's side. The Frenchman placed a hand on the taller man's shoulder and scowled menacingly at the two men before him.

"Gentlemen, remember where you are. Remember who you are dealing with. What is that saying about picking a fight with a man who has nothing left to lose? Well, pretend Mann Co. is that man. Inside this man is a will to destroy greater than any in known existence. You are intruding on his life and thus this will can be unleashed upon you. You have friends? Well, so does Mister Mundy. Very DANGEROUS friends and we will protect him to our dying breaths. Do you want to walk or do you want a war?" It was their turn to take a step back. Sniper himself almost did, heaving the conviction in the other's voice. He was certain it was false, but it sounded convincing enough. Either way, these men DID have something to fear, weather the devotion of the team was as strong as Spy stated or not.

"Well," the smaller man began again, looking dead at spy with a scowl almost equally as horrid, "We'll just have to see, won't we..." As they placed the hats atop their heads and turned to walk out, the scowl shifted to a grin of deviance and both men felt their spines go livid at his next words. "Mister Tristram."

* * *

 _AN~ Before I get angry comments, I want to explain something: A LONG time ago, many years ago, in fact, there was a website who claimed to have the leaked names of the Mercs from Team Fortress 2. Seeing as they accurately predicted Sniper's last name (adopted), Heavy's name, Soldier's name, and Demo's name, I thought I might use the one they 'leaked' for spy. The website was also taken down by valve and the wikis that added the names were forcibly changed. No, a few accurate predictions and an angry company do not make it true, but I liked the name anyway, so there's that. Anyway, sorry for the wait and I hope you liked this chapter._


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